


Sugar Rush

by DollyPop



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Cravings, Cuddling, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Late night trips to DeathMart, Pregnancy, Stein being arse over elbow in love with Marie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 12:20:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4705793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DollyPop/pseuds/DollyPop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's two in the morning and what is he stuck doing? Gallivanting through a ghost-town of a DeathMart trying to find cupcakes. Marie being pregnant was great up until the damn cravings hit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar Rush

**Author's Note:**

  * For [starrylia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrylia/gifts).



> Well, I didn't have anything written for Day 3's prompt of Angst Week: "Haunting Melody", so, instead, I decided to throw some tooth-rotting fluff into the mix!

“…Stein…cupcake…”

“Hmm?” he asked, yawning and burying his face closer to the crook of Marie’s neck.

“I want a cupcake.”

“Hmm,” he replied, pulling her closer.

“Stein.”

“Mmmmarie,”

“Stein, I want a cupcake.”

He groaned even louder before cracking his eyes open and barely making out the numbers on the alarm clock Marie got a few months ago. The instant he did, he immediately closed them again, wondering which of his previous misdeeds he was being punished for.

“It’s two in the morning,” he informed, starting to slur and string the words together.

“Stein…Stein, the baby wants a cupcake.”

Oh. That misdeed. Why did she let him do that, again?

“The baby can’t want a cupcake, it doesn’t have proper brain activity. You’re only 15 weeks.”

Marie sighed. “I can’t sleep. I need a cupcake.”

“We don’t have anything in the house. Go to bed.”

“I can’t. The baby is angry at me.”

“And Ein Stein requires a cupcake to forgive you?”

“Mmmmmhm.”

“…my child would be that spiteful, but the point stands. Ein can’t want anything.”

Marie pouted, deciding on a new plan of action. Her husband was starting to doze off, again.

“Stein,” she said, drawing out the syllables and gently stroking his hair. He made a soft noise in the back of his throat, resting his ear on her shoulder. His bolt was still warm from being pressed against her, earlier, in sleep, so it didn’t jolt her and she traced where it protruded from his skull, an action she knew he found particularly soothing. Stein stretched out, leaning into her touch.

He was practically a cat, honestly. She was waiting for the purr to start up.

“Stein, I want that cupcake. Please?”

“Hmmmgnnn,” he muttered, sliding down a little lower on her so his face was pillowed by her breasts. Marie rolled her eye, scratching his scalp and bringing another hand onto his back where she could rub circles onto his shoulder blades.

“Could you get me one?”

He cracked only one eye open this time. “No.”

She huffed, stopping all activity.

“It’s two am in the morning and I’m pregnant and it’s your fault and the baby will keep me awake all night until it gets what it wants.”

He opened his mouth to say something, to repeat that the baby cannot have genuine wants yet, but the second he looked up at her face, that was the end of the line for him. She was batting her eyelashes down, her amber eye sweet and gentle even in the darkness of their room, and she tilted her lips up into a delicate smile, purposefully wobbling her lower lip.

“Don’t-“

“Please? Franken? It’s just a cupcake…” she said, tracing a small shape on his pale shoulder, pitching her voice up.

That never worked. It never worked. Please. Who did she think she was? As if Franken Stein would get up at 2 am after actually getting to bed at a decent hour, put on pants, and go on a run to a 24 hour Deathmart just so his ridiculous wife could have a cupcake.

No, sir. Not Stein.

\-----------------------------

Fuck, who labeled the damn aisles? They were impossible to navigate. He felt massive in the store, too, he could look over into the next area without even having to stand on his toes. The cashier on duty looked half dead: he was concerned that he would have to check for a pulse on the man.

And he was perusing the Twizzler aisle for the sixteenth time. Damnit, he just wanted some sleep.

Maybe Marie would be fine with Twizzlers? He rather liked them, though they were only a few steps away from being a strange, inexplicable plastic. No, that would probably be bad for the baby.

Actually, anything he’d get in the mart would probably be two steps from sludge.

It reminded him too much of college, being back in a small market where the only thing in your budget were soft drinks and Doritos. His bloodstream was replaced by Fanta at one point in time and he looks back upon those memories in fondness and mild awe.

What he could remember of it, anyway. Sleep deprivation did things to you, eventually. Bad things.

No matter. Hostess cakes? That was close enough to cupcakes, right? Marie wouldn’t care.

No. Maybe? Probably not if he got her some ice cream to go with it, he knew she was craving dairy recently. But if he did that, it was a gamble on which flavor she’d want. And, frankly, he wasn’t up to seeing her stare at the container for twelve minutes before she’d get up, get bread, ketchup, and a spoon, and create what he would easily call one of the most disgusting struggle sandwiches he’d ever been in the presence of. He’d seen Spirit eat some weird shit, in the past, but Death, that was revolting.

Yeah. That was a “no” on the ice cream, then.

He turned, about ready to throw all dignity to the wayside and ask the half-catatonic cashier for directions and/or assistance, but when he spotted them picking their nose, he decided against it and immediately whirled back around, coming face to face with the PopTarts.

Birthday cake flavor. Whatever. Those’ll do. He’ll grab that and the damn hostess cakes and be on his merry way. Death knows Marie wouldn’t even want the damn things by the time he got back, her cravings lasted barely half an hour and he’d been trying to navigate the maze-like structure of the archaic Deathmart for what felt like three years. By the time he returned, his kid would already be born and he’d have missed the tot’s first steps and Marie would divorce him.

He grabbed another box of PopTarts as well as a cinnamon bun, bending to his fate that stretched before his sleep-deprived mind. When he walked up to the cashier, as he suspected, the person was asleep. Fine by him. Honestly, there wasn’t even any hand sanitizer in sight, there was no way he wanted to be in any sort of proximity to them.

He reached for one of the flyers on the counter and wrote IOU on the back of it, then informed that two boxes of PopTarts, some Twizzlers, peanut butter Hostess Cupcakes, and a cinnamon bun was to go under Spirit Albarn’s tab before Stein promptly dropped the pen into the still-full cup of coffee that must have belonged to the cashier, rustled out a particularly noisy plastic bag that was slowly killing their environment, and made his way out.

\--------------------------------

When he got home, Marie was still awake, which surprised him. He was half certain that she’d be sleeping, snoring as usual, hugging the body pillow he absolutely was NOT jealous of. Instead, she was on their ridiculous, pink couch, wearing the sheet from the bed and flipping through some maternity magazine. When she looked up, her eye zeroed in on the bag in his hands.

“Cupcake?”

Stein lay the spoils on his coffee table, and Marie immediately snatched it up, not bothering with looking before she threw her hand in and dug around. When she peered at what she’d fished out, she raised a brow.

“This is a half empty box of PopTarts.”

Stein flicked the crumbs off his stitched-up shirt. “You’re welcome.”

“Stein.”

He just shrugged, yawning and plopping down next to her in order to take his shoes off. Beside him, she continued rummaging about in the thin plastic sack until she found what she was looking for.

“Oh, Franken!” she said, seemingly in delight, before she all but inhaled the entire box of pre-wrapped cupcakes, leaving the wrappers on the side of her where they would be stuffed in between the cushions the next time she sat down and they wouldn’t find the things until the baby was born and crawling about and accidentally eating the garbage it found in the house.

As children are one to do.

He wasn’t in the mood to inform her of such. He was too busy trying to make his brain remember that he threw his shirt over the cabinet, but he knew he wouldn’t remember anything come daylight. It was an empty hope. He should just resign.

When Marie was finished, she seemed to regret her actions immediately, groaning and leaning onto him, letting the sheet fall away. He looked down at her, blinking before he took off his glasses and also set them down on the table, sure he wouldn’t see them again for a while as the entire thing was overrun with too many magazines and empty boxes of confectionary goods he was indulging in far too often.

Those Twizzlers were a bad idea.

“I’m ready to sleep, now,” she told him, yawning and sidling in close to him.

He sighed, standing up and scooping her into his arms, staring at the felled sheet with baleful eyes before he adjusted his pregnant partner and pushed the fabric around with his foot, kicking it around and up until it found its way over Marie’s face, an action she neither reacted to, nor seemed to take note of. He jostled her until the blanket found its way down so it settled onto her torso and then he made the perilous clamber to the bedroom, dreading whether Marie would be hit with another random craving, or not.

There were a lot of pros to her pregnancy but moments such as the previous did not constitute as such. Regardless, when he finally crossed the threshold that meant he was within ten feet of a mattress, he could finally lay Marie down and remove his pants, an act he reveled in fulfilling.

He’d never been so thankful of a bed in his life. Three thirty am was a time he was accustomed to staying awake to see, but not to waking up to greet. Neither were favorable, but he can safely say that the former was preferable than the latter.

No matter.

With the natural skill of a man who resented with the entirety of his soul, he shoved Marie’s yellow body pillow away and off the side of the bed, feigning innocence when she made a sleepy, questioning noise.

Instead, he only settled next to her before he assumed his most comfortable position of using his much-softer-more-recently wife as a pillow. Stein buried his face between her bare breasts, closing his eyes and getting cozy, especially when Marie’s arms came around him, stroking the back of his neck.

“Thank you for the cupcakes.”

“Hmmm,” he replied, and the vibrations tickled her.

By the time her soft giggle died down, ebbing into a pleased sigh, he was already asleep.


End file.
